


Hands of the Clock

by Alexfoster451



Category: Chuck - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Ficlet, Friendship/Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-29
Updated: 2010-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-15 21:05:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/164929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexfoster451/pseuds/Alexfoster451
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>  The day belongs to Casey, Ellie, and Chuck. Three short ficlets set around Season Two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hands of the Clock

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short thing written for [Lauraceleste](http://lauraceleste.livejournal.com/profile) because I thought she could use some cheering up.

Title: Hands of the Clock

Author: Alex Foster

Category: General

Rating: PG

Summary:  The day belongs to Casey, Ellie, and Chuck. Three short ficlets.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by NBC. No money is being made and no infringement is intended.

Author's Notes: Just a short thing written for [Lauraceleste](http://lauraceleste.livejournal.com/profile) because I thought she could use some cheering up.

…  
…

  
 _Time is Too slow for those who wait, Too swift for those who fear, Too long for those who grieve, Too short for those who rejoice. But for those who love, time is not.  
_ -Henry Van Dyke

…  
…

  
After three in the morning was the best time for it.

In the blissful predawn hour before the rest of the world started milling about and making noise he could enjoy this private ritual. More so than bonsai trimming this calmed and prepared him. It was the closest he ever came to reverence—this was his religion, art, and solace in one simple action.

The grip used was the most important, something kids never took the time to understand when they would play around at being soldiers. John Casey knew better and would take the time to weigh and admire the heft of the gun in his hand. His fingers moved along familiar ridgelines of the stock before coming to a rest over the two sensitive buttons on either side of the trigger assembly. Oil glistened on the palm his hand in the soft bedroom light.

He had done this since before he was old enough to shave and didn’t need light to do it right, but he was a visual creature and enjoyed the sight as well as the touch of cold metal.

Casey depressed the buttons and in one smooth motion pulled the slide forward. He set it easily aside, next to the empty clip, and flipped the SIG counterclockwise so it pointed down at the table. Thick probing fingers pressed the spring in and away from the main handgrip and popped it free. He placed it between the slide and clip. The barrel came out last and a smirk pulled at his mouth. He reached for the bottle of oil and began cleaning spent powder from the housing.

Before the noise and bustle of the day’s battle ahead, this time belonged to him.

The morning was his.

…  
…

  
Their record was two and a half days straight.

Devon and Ellie were both interns then and working overlapping shifts at the hospital. Normally they would cross paths in the cafeteria, a nurse’s station when they should have been recording notes, or, more than once, an unoccupied janitor’s closet for a quickie.

But that one time a bus against train collision came in at the end of Devon’s shift while he was working the ER rotation. It had been bad and there were children involved. Ellie didn’t see him for sixty straight hours and between triage and surgery and walking wounded neither of them had thought of meeting or sneaking off to a closet.

When it was over they went home together—neither could remember the last time either had slept or eaten—and silently crawled into bed. His skin had smelled of lemon surgeon’s soap that only thinly covered the lingering scent of copper.

Late afternoon sunlight filled the bedroom when they finally woke up. They didn’t talk about the horrors of the night before or how long they were apart. They just sleepily and quietly made love as the day ended outside. Ellie knew Chuck or Sarah would never understand it but seeing so much death was in its own way life affirming. She and Devon had fiercely clung to each other in a way they hadn’t before in those closets or while flirting over impossible to read chart notes.

It was, she thought, the moment she realized she was in love with Devon.

That was why they would still sometimes switch shifts around so they both stumbled home in the middle of the day, exhausted but happy and curl up in bed together.

The afternoon belonged to them.

…  
…

  
 After watching Sarah take down bad guys in hand to hand combat and defuse bombs Lethal Weapon style Chuck thought it was odd that this was the time when he found her the most endearing. Near closing on Saturday nights was always the busiest time at the Orange Orange. Cheap dates mostly, but they would also get a few early club goers stopping in for a nice sugar rush before raving the night away.

He and Sarah were very good at pretending—first as a perfect couple and now as friends that everyone figured would one day work it out and get back together—but this was his favorite fantasy. That she had no clue somehow made it better.

Keeping to the back during the last customer run of Saturday night he would sit and admire as she worked the counter and served the best frozen yogurt in town to the hipsters and cheap dates. The top spy would move smoothly between orders, giving a friendly smile as each new customer walked up, and never gave away her certain inner wish that these people would just go away so she could do her real job.

Chuck would never order during the rush, content to just loiter while the customers slowly filtered out and she began cleaning and closing up. He would get brief flashes—not the Intersect kind—of what they looked like to others. He saw them both simple but hard working living in a world that didn’t require them to be anything but that.

Sarah would always kick off her shoes and sit with him when the lights were finally off and the closed sign flipped in the window. They’d share a leftover yogurt that she had set aside for him and compare bad customer stories from their stores.

Chuck had many fantasies about Sarah and had been in more impressive situations with her than he could count, but for reasons unknown to him this was his favorite. When she was just an Orange Orange counter girl and he the best friend that everyone knew would one day again be more because it was late on a Saturday and he couldn’t think of a better way to spend it than with her.

It was just a fantasy, they weren’t really either of those people, but as they laughed and crossed plastic spoons in the dish during a duel over who would get the last scoop he liked to believe that the night was theirs.

  
 **End**  



End file.
